


All you need is Natasha

by MountainRose



Series: Tumblr Prompts [9]
Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Assault, Chemical Weapons, Evil Ex, Gen, M/M, Natasha fixes that shit tho, Natasha is the best bro, Stalker, Subspace, chemicaly induced subspace, past bad BDSM -mentioned, tech conventions, traffic light safewords, universe fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4127674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainRose/pseuds/MountainRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tiberius Stone.</p><p>What a <em>dickhead.</em></p><p>Fortunately, Natasha and Darcy sort the <em>fuck</em> out of him.</p><p>Anonymous asked: I can't get enough of subby Tony, I really just can't. So I'm prompting, Tony has a bad run-in with Ty, ends up kind of dropping, and only Natasha is there (or maybe Clint too?) to get him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All you need is Natasha

**Author's Note:**

> Warning:  
> Tiberius Stone attempts to kidnap and force Tony into subspace for unspoken but NEFARIOUS REASONS: implications of sexual assault and past Bad BDSM.  
> (PS. I had trouble tagging this one, if you have any tags you think I should add, please leave me a comment!)
> 
> This was originally posted on tumblr, and you can find that post [Here](http://rose-on-the-mountain.tumblr.com/post/109193612459/i-cant-get-enough-of-subby-tony-i-really-just). It's been cleaned up, but is otherwise the same. Enjoy!

He catches sight of Ty across the convention floor hours before he gets within three meters of him. Tony's in the AI section; he's busy as fuck so he doesn't have much time to be nervous about an Evil Ex, but he is anyway.

Natasha keeps sending him assessing glances from her post, pretending to be hospitality. She's actually wearing four pounds of nonlethal weaponry and armour, and Tony gets a little buzz each time he sees her on-guard eyes in a placid, welcoming expression. The line of her skirt doesn't look like it would hide anything, and her jacket is nipped at the waist expertly; the hardware still doesn't show.

He's demo'ing a simple AI with none of the complex behaviour Dummy displays, just an advanced visual recognition system and fire resistant everything. The BigDog guys in the next stand over are doing something similar, with bullet resistance. Theirs is for bomb disposal --he wants to have a chat with them in his lunch break about mine sweeping-- while the little bot crawling over artistically arranged rubble behind him is for search and rescue.

He's almost forgotten about Ty's existence again by the time he gets away from the crush around the SI stand long enough to make himself look less approachable. He leaves Natasha and the R&D people to handle the next half hour of questions without too much guilt; she’ll call him if he’s needed sooner than that.

Tony'd promised himself a look at the bionics sector for up and comings, so he winds his way through medtec until he starts seeing prosthetics. Some stall holders notice and/or recognise him, most do, even, but he's generally unmolested by the crowd, and they're busy chatting up enthusiasts and investors.

"Tony, Tony! How lovely to see you."

 _Fuck_ , just when he'd gotten over the slimy, gross feeling of seeing Ty again, it comes rushing back all at once. Tiberius Stone has crept up behind him in the crowd, and there's something cold and metallic pressed to the small of Tony's back. One of Ty's inventions, nothing so familiar as a gun or a knife, --Tiberius never was one to be satisfied with vanilla-- and Tony can’t move until he at least knows what it does.

Tony's heart is trying to crawl out of his throat; he's still recovering from the removal of the arc reactor, he doesn't need any weird neuromodulating weapons aimed at his spine. "Hello, Tiberius.” He grits his teeth and keeps very still, trying not to make eye contact with the crowd just in case someone wants to be a hero. “How're your lawyers? All raring to go? Because you are in violation of your restraining order, buddy, back off."

Ty 'tsk's, and steers him like an old friend away from the main crowd. “ _Lawyers_. When did you get so _boring,_ Tony?”

The convention hall is huge, but they're headed for the edge, and Ty obviously has a destination in mind but Tony doesn’t try to draw attention as the crowd thins. Ty could end up causing the kind of mindless riot that killed people if his weapon was anything like the shit he’d pulled when they were kids. His 'devices' were twisted pieces of barely legal bullshit, with effects as unpredictable as a rabid dog, and that was when Tony was helping, its been years since Ty's had any good engineers on his team; Tony pays that much better.

Tony waits until they're out of the main thoroughfare, where the crowd is much thinner. But Tony doesn't dare make a move in such a tight space; there are power conduits everywhere and support staff scuttling around, as well as tired visitors stepping out of the crowd for breathers. Eventually Ty risks pulling him into the deserted dead space behind a cluster of storage crates.Tony finds himself pressed against a heavy metal crate, the weapon digging into his stomach, but its almost a relief; the collateral damage if shit goes down here is in dollars, not gravestones.

Tiberius' face is covered with predatory charm, the warning sign that Tony's younger self had missed right up until the last moment. "Let's try this again,” he purrs. “Say 'Ty, old friend! Lovely to see you too!'"

"Hello, Tiberius,” Tony grits out, pressing back against the crate and glancing down at the weapon. It’s hidden in his suit jacket, though, and it’s dangerous to take your eyes off Tiberius for too long. “If I said this was a pleasant encounter, I would be lying and I know how much you hate liars."

Tiberius' face twists into something ugly and crude. "You're right, I don't, and you've been lying about me for years, Tony; did it make you happy when you lied in court? Shame on you, saying you didn't like it."

Ty is too close, talking about things that were supposed to be long over, and the heat of his body turns Tony's stomach. "Fuck you! I never lie to you, you fucking made sure of that, you rat-bastard!" It comes out as a snarl, more aggressive than the calm he'd been trying for. He won't be able to calm Ty down, though, he knows that, but it’s old, well trained habit to try.

"No! You liked it! I _know_ , it was my machine! I made it for you! Just for you!" he screeches, knocked back and eyes showing the white all the way around. He’s out of control and the weapon slices through the air in a violent gesture of denial; even he would have the sense to keep the weapon trained if he had any logical faculties left. Tony can't diffuse this, but he has got a good look at the weapon.

Its blocky, a white lump on a handle, a trigger at the junction, like an IR thermometer. There's not enough space for multiple rounds, or much propellant. Even if it’s an energy weapon, there's no space for enough power cells for many shots. Its short range, must be, there's no barrel to aim with, or any kind of sight.

He rises to the balls of his feet, knees bending and elbows pressing against the crate for stability; if he gets away, out of range, Ty will have to catch him again before he uses it, and maybe he can reach Natasha before his heart gives up on him. The civilians will be safe.

"You made it for _you,_ Ty, to fulfill your own twisted fucking fantasy,” Tony snarls. “I was a perfect sub! You were the one who wasn't good enough. You were a fucking failure of a Dom, you didn't know the difference between sedation and subspace!" Fuck the running, this bloody fucking conversation is getting his heart rate up to dangerous levels.

Ty is furious, out of his mind with it, and raises his right hand, still holding the weapon, to smack Tony across the face. Its all the chance he needs; a quick kick to the inside knee sends Ty to the ground, and Tony leaps out of range of the weapon Ty's already bringing to bear. He runs, pulling his phone out of his pocket; his heart is starting to skip, he needs to take his meds and a lie down, but he has to get this fucker arrested first. He hits speed #1 and somewhere in the hall, Natasha's phone goes off like a claxon. She picks up almost immediately, but Tony's struggling to get through the crowd, and leaving an empty space behind him.

Ty is catching up.

A hard grip on his bicep jars the phone out of his hand just as he catches the first snatch of Natasha's voice, and it goes skittering across the floor.

He swings his elbow into Ty's wrist, trying to break the grip so he can get his distance back. It impacts with a solid bone-on-bone strike, and Tony's other hand is already coming up as the momentum of his elbow pulls him around. He strikes down with the heel of his palm to knock the weapon out of Ty's disrupted grasp, but he just catches the look of fury of Ty's face before a violent whine and shock of electricity impacts his stomach.

He finishes the strike out of sheer momentum but he can't follow through, and his elbow comes out of lock. Ty drops the weapon, whatever it has done is done, _fuck_ , but his hand doesn't break, mores the pity. The weapon hits the floor and Tony's knees follow a bare moment later. There's something tugging on his belly, wires, still connected to the device, and the hot surge of electricity across his skin tells him it’s still working.

Ty is backing off, trying to vanish into the crowd, eyes wide and suddenly aware of what he’s done, but someone is yelling about how 'you can't taze Ironman!' and making enough racket to bring security running.

Things are getting fuzzy and he recognises the effects with a sinking feeling; the faint taste of asparagus at the back of his mouth, and the immediate softening of focus. He's been dosed with 'somnamorph', enough to put him under for hours.

And when he says 'under', he doesn't mean sleep. Fuck. If security get here before he's on his feet, they'll send him to the nearest hospital, and he won't be able to say no; even the idea of refusing to do something feels nauseating.

He fumbles for the wires and tugs the injectors out of his skin. They're still live, enough to snap and crackle with shorts in his hand; electrophoritic drug administration, same as J uses to deliver the low-volume, high concentration first aid they have in the suit. He really wants the suit, right now, it would have protected him from Ty.

He manages to raise his head and focus through the vegetable flavoured haze on the crowd around him. No one seems to know what to do, except for one girl, who's sitting on Ty's back and mashing his face into the carpet. He meets her eye and whatever's on his face makes her do something complicated involving a grin, sympathy and wryness, with hers.  
Most of the crowd are still in the shocked 'someone-just-got-tazed-whatthefuck' stage of things, but there's a big blonde guy who looks safe and useful and trustworthy, next to a teeny tiny mouse-blonde woman. She's awake, and running towards him. Which is great, because he really wants to lean on something, but the floor is... Convention floor. Its gross.

"Oh my god, Tony, are you alright?" She asks, her guy standing guard close by, with big, biiiig, blue eyes looking at everything, like puddles after a rainstorm, not the muddy ones, the ones that look like a piece of the sky has fallen into a hole in the ground, all brilliant blue and scudding clouds.

"Tony please, say something? Do you need a-- We need a paramedic! Over here! Please!"

He sways into her, but she's really tiny, and he nearly knocks her over. His tongue feels thick, but he thinks she would like to know what's happening, he should tell her.

The words are slow, traveling from his brain to his mouth at a sluggish, treacleish pace, and the syllables trip over themselves.

"...'m drugged. Ty, Stone, he. Hmmm..." Tony stops to breathe through a painful spasm in his abs, where the electricity made a mess. Big, blonde, storm-sky is holding him semi-upright now, and tiny-science's hands flutter over his face and neck helplessly.

"Som--somnamorph. No drugs, Kay? No more, it'll int--rct- interact."

"Okay, I'll make sure. Where's Natasha, she'll-- Nat! Over here!"

A redhead in a killer suit, more ways than one, there are scaryawesome things under that tailoring, he knows, but can't see, how does he know? She is safe trustworthy friend, too, but he doesn't know how he knows that either. She makes eye contact and it is good, he can give her permission. There's a word for it, that's safe and 'please'--

"Green. Hello, I've been drugged."

"Hello, Tony, you're bleeding, too, can I see?"

He is? "I am?"

"He said, he recognised the drug, and called it 'somamorphine'-- it was in this--"

Small-science holds up white-pain-drug-weapon, and Tony cringes away from it. Its open maw looks like its going to try and eat him. Reel him in on its barb-tipped wires and chew him up.

"Okay, that's... Evidence. Sorry, I shouldn't touch it, put it down and... Here, bag it up for now. Darcy! Zip ties, catch!"

Tony doesn't want to look at Ty, can hear his anger in the distance, and just wants to hide in killer-suit's skirt, but she's pushing him backwards, exposing his vulnerable belly. Fear tightens his throat, and his heart skips again, enough to make him flinch, but her hands are gentle, undoing his shirt, not ripping. Touching, smoothing, not pushing and scratching.

There are two bloody marks on the fabric, and two places where burn-hot-pain gives way to sharp-rip-pain. Neither feel good, he didn't want pain, and a new word bubbles up.

"Red! Killer-suit, don't want," he tries to make more words, more sense but fails when his throat leaps with a wrong-sick-ouch heartbeat that makes his head swim.

"Hey, look at me, not at the red, look at me." He obeys, her voice like a lifeline. "That's, good. Oh boy, look at you--" that sounds like she's talking to herself, he keeps looking at her, instead. She is still, when even the floor is moving.

"You're going to be fine, we'll look up somamorphene, see what's going on. Let's get you out of the crowd for now, okay?"

That sounds good, just good, perfect, excellent, there are so many eyes on them. She covers up his ouch-burn-stab belly with something white-soft and then big-guy-blonde is pulling on his shoulders, and from his feet, the floor has a lot of directions to move in, and it tries to do them all at once.

He leans, and killer-suit is calm and still and her eyes pull him in, safe, her hands on his arms, then her shoulder under his.

A word batters the back of his teeth, important and insistent, and he pants with his mouth open to let it know the way out.

"Som-na-morph. Gods of sleeping dreams."

She looks pleased, smiles; he's been good, he knew she would want to know.

He walks, he can do that if he concentrates, and concentrating feels nice.

He remembers why he doesn't like asparagus.

There are uniforms, green and high-vis and white, blue-and-white-and-hat, and someone gives him a shock blanket he doesn't want, then there is a Happy, and a limo and it's _quiet._

In the dark-leather-warm-safe, he finds a name, and rolls it over his tongue like champagne. "Natalie, Natanka, Natasha," he says, all the words fitting into her red curly hair, and the lines of body armour under her open shirt. The round 'N' sound fits into the zipped pockets hidden at her waist, and the click of 'nka' is inscribed in the hammer-guard of her handgun. There is a 'ssh' curled in her bracelet, where a spring holds piano wire curled up tight, and 'taa' is in the sweep of her eyeliner and lashes.

She smiles again, and it's soft and close, warm. Her hand slides into his hair and his back goes soft, neck loose, leaning into her hand.

"Are you using colour safewords? Is that what that was?"

He nods slowly, eyes closed.

"What colour are you right now?"

"Green, green like earthing wire, green like pesto and basil and apples. Not green like asparagus, or green like Hulk. Soft green, warm greeeen."

He has done good, she is laughing, relieved, pleased, incredulous. He shifts over, leaning into her lap and smiles; he has surprised her, but it's a good surprise, and she moves her gun on her hip to make room for him.

Her hand cards through his hair again, and the other checks the ouch-pain-baddrugs on his stomach, but he can't really feel it.

"He got --arrested?" Tony asks, a little tremor of distantly-afraid in his voice and the back of his head.

"Locked up; Darcy is making sure, and Thor is backing her up."

He mulls briefly. That is... Good. Ty did red things, and made him bleed, and risked a...riot? Is that right? Hmmm.

"I need to ...m-make a statement."

Natasha's grip, now on his shoulder, tightens briefly. "Okay. Do you want me to help you write it?"

He considers again, and words are hard.

"Yes. Please."

She combs through his hair again, and he let's his head rest heavier on her leg. "We'll work on it when we get back, once we've had lunch. How does that sound?"

He nods, aware that its slow and lethargic, and wondering if he can have a nap on the way home. Her fingers whisper 'sleep' into his hair, and her easy breath above him has words like 'nap' and 'doze' trapped in its eddies and swirls.

It's nice.


End file.
